When I was young, in the 1950's, NY state had terrible snow storms from
the Great Lakes "Lake Effect" snows.

Larry,
You paint a wonderful picture of growing up in such a completely
different environment that experienced in more temperate New Zealand
which is 1,000 miles or so long but which has temperate weather
inducing surrouinding seas. The original name for N.Z. was the Maori
one - Aotearoa - essentially "the land of the long white cloud" As I
read your writing I became aware that the mental imagery your words
provoked were from the movies that I had seen since childhood. They,
usually from the Disney studios, of course portrayed idyllic
situations with the ideal stereotype American (white of course) family
of the time. America was apparently a heaven on earth where everyone
had large cars, large houses, toboggans, ice skates, drive in movies
and every other desirable feature of modern life. The kitchens of
these houses were very middle class with all the conveniences and the
mothers never worked and were always supoportive and understanding
while the fathers had good jobs but sort of hovered within the
periphery of the family. Looking back, it seemed that American Mothers
were very much in control as were the young girl children of the boys.
I remember at eight years old when I lived in a Boy's home, when we
were in bed at night after seeing such a family at the 'pictures'. We
talked half into the night about how we were going to be fathers just
like that; we'd take our children fishing, camping in the woods and on
holidays around the country. I can't recall any thoughts of a wife in
the picture at all. Needless to say, I later acquired one, or rather,
she acquired me or took me off the streets depending upon who she is
talking with at the time.

We have in some of New Zealand's central North Island lakes, such as
lake Taupo, a small variety of smelt which is not fished (apart from
by poachers) as it provides food for Rainbow and Brown trout.

What used to be prolific was a small 25 - 30 mm (sorry inch to inch
and a quarter - tedious to say and to write) long young of a species
of primitive native trout - the galaxids, of which we have about 6 or
7 species. This fish spawns in the estuaries and the sea and migrates
en mass up the rivers as fry. They are eaten entire, being too small
to scale, fillet, gut and behead; normally mixed with a little beaten
egg to bind them into pattiies that are quickly fried in butter in a
hot skillet. Delicious with freshly squeezed lemon.

As young kids we would meet up to go fishing from the commercial
wharves of the capital, Wellington in the days before containers and
when kids and others could walk the wharves in the weekends. Try it
now and you will be stopped by security at the gate. . Depending upon
the season, we could catch fast running sea trout - the Kahawai, with
a spinner on the end of a piece of nylon - didn't have rods, couldn't
afford them. Most of the time we would use squeezed pieces of bread on
tiny hooks to catch sardines and pilchards which we would either cook
ourselves in an old frypan we kept hidden beneath the wooden wharf
structure or, if it was raining, take them to 'Charlie's' - an elderly
Chinese shopkeeper who sold Chinese dry goods and whose wife would
cook them for us out back while they told stories of old China. He was
a Kuomintang officer before the war. The way to clean and cook them I
taught my wife and son in Turkey a few years ago where these fish are
US$1 or 2 dollars a kilo in the markets and very fresh.

You should try it sometime. it is simple and they taste delicious.
Such simple expertise also impresses the women - almost as good as
dragging a wooly mammoth back to the cave.

NOTE: This is a tip for CRUISING BOAT people who may espy these small
fish in a foreign or not so foreign fish market and ponder the cooking
of them. Got it in there Larry.

Take the fish in one hand, grasp the head with the other and pull down
and towards the stomach. This will rip off the head and eviscerate the
poor creature in one motion. Then, hold the fish in one hand, ventral
surface up and push the thumbnail of the other hand beneath the
backbone from the now headless end until it has lifted off completely
and you are left with two fillets held together by the caudal peduncle
(forgive me - the biologist you know) - the base of the tail. Stack
them on a plate and when you have sufficient - half a dozen fish will
suffice for an entree portion, wash them gently, dredge them lightly
in seasoned (salt and pepper and a little chilli if you wish) flour
and lay in hot olive oil. Cook several at a time - quickly - and turn
them over when golden. Again (damn, I am copiously salivating doglike
at the moment) serve with a little sprig of parsley and squeezed
lemon.

Sounds more difficult than it is but the results are more than worth
it. Your are not required to beat your chest when you present them to
your woman, but.... if it helps.

It is sometimes not good to revisit your childhood haunts. They always
change and get smaller. They exist far better as memories.

Looking back now, there were usually the three of us who were also
friends at school; me a Greek Moslem, Michael an Italian Catholic who
later joined the Jesuits and another Peter who was Chinese and a pagan
who used chopsticks at that. I can't remember it ever mattering then
and we are still close friends over 50 years later. Perhaps life was
simpler then. Michael's Dad was a commercial fisherman who taught us
to caulk boats - his, and to repair nets - his. He made me promise
that if I ever went to Italy I would light a candle for him in the
church on the island of Stromboli - his origin. We made a long detour
from the Straits of Messina to the Aeolian Islands just to do so. I
sought the assistance of the young priest who gave me a candle
(normally two Euros), explained how to light it and place it in the
sand box, and left to wait with my owner and son, not before advising
that I could pray in any manner I wished and advising the general
direction of Mecca without my asking. Afterwards, we were invited into
his home for lunch. I shall never forget that priest.

cheers
Peter